Work Text:
'Isn’t this a bit unethical?'
'Wow, Potter, big word for you.' Pansy smirked, flicking Harry on the forehead.
'Don’t bully him, Pans.' Blaise stretched across his bed, arms crossed, with an indifferent expression pointed towards the two of them. 'And no, it isn’t Potter. You have a chance to turn into Draco’s type. You have a big, fat, gay crush on him.' Blaise shrugged. 'He would absolutely do it if he came up with the idea.'
Harry groaned. How he ended up there, in the Eighth Year Slytherin Dorms, drinking a potion brewed by Pansy Parkinson - Merlin, he would never know. There was always a risk, of course, when he decided to make nice with them all post-War.
Little did he know what 'making nice' would lead to.
First, he discovered that he may or may not have a massive crush on Malfoy.
Second, he found out that everybody else within his general vicinity knew- Harry was not as discreet as he thought he was.
And third, he realised that he had actually become friends with the Slytherins. Which meant that despite having vows of silence, all of them had tried coercing him into confessing his feelings to Draco.
So, there he was, surrounded by two of Malfoy’s closest friends, with a small glass vial of pale blue liquid in his hands. Pansy convinced him that this was the perfect idea. Somehow.
Supposedly, the potion worked like Polyjuice. One needed a strand of hair to add to the potion (Pansy had snagged one of Draco's) before it worked. But after that, taking a sip would warp his body into that of Malfoy's ideal partner.
The potion was unethical, despite Blaise's proclamations.
After conducting a bit of research, Harry discovered how heavily regulated it was. Most European countries considered it a 'controlled substance' due to its dubious nature.
Harry obviously wasn't going to trick Draco. That had never even crossed his mind.
The idea that Draco might go out with him if he wore a different face felt... wrong. The idea sent an ache through him.
Fuck. The more he thought about it, the fewer benefits Harry saw in taking this potion.
'Merlin! Are you going to just stand there like a lemon? Drink the thing!' Pansy geared up to flick him again.
Fuck it. Worst case, Harry would turn into someone the exact opposite to him. He would just have to get over it. At least the potion would speed up the acceptance process.
Twisting off the cap, Harry threw back the potion like a shot of vodka.
It was cold, and it tasted like wet paper.
'A'ight okay, Potter’s come to play.' Blaise sat up in bed, a grin now plastered across his face. 'Didn’t think you had it in you.'
'Fuck off, Blaise.' The stale taste of the potion stuck to the inside of Harry’s mouth, clinging to his cheeks. 'Ugh, can I have some water or something?'
Pansy cackled and pointed towards the bathroom before bounding back over to Blaise.
Once Harry slammed the door shut (with a touch more aggression than he intended to use), he stomped over to the sink. He bent his head under the tap to take a gulp of water, then swilled it around his mouth before spitting.
The potion wasn't doing anything.
Harry expected it to feel the same as any other body-morphing potion. The awful shifting of flesh and bones, the burn beneath his skin. But nothing.
Just… nothing.
He glanced down at his hands. They were the same. Rough, with some calluses on his palms. His legs were the same when he tugged up his trousers a few inches. So were his arms.
Weird.
As he turned to head back to his friends, Harry felt a gentle brush against his eyelids. So light that he barely recognised it, like a breath.
He turned back towards the sink, then to the mirror sitting above it. His reflection stared back at him. Same as ever.
The same stupid, messy hair that he was sure the potion would rid him of. The same green eyes that seemed to define him at this point. His scar was still there, bisecting his right eyebrow as it always did.
Harry looked the same. Sort of.
There was a shadow of black smudged beneath his bottom eyelashes.
So... he looked the same, except the potion made him look fucking tired.
Stepping back from the mirror, Harry shot a glare at his reflection.
Huh. Not tired.
Harry squinted at the mirror.
The dark smudge shifted.
Merlin, he looked halfway to Robert Bloody Smith. The dark shadow seemed to extend itself to Harry’s upper lid, smoky and black. It’s not that he hated it; in fact, he thought he looked quite good with it – whatever it was. But the potion didn’t work. It didn’t do anything. And Pansy was clearly taking the piss out of him.
Having stomped into the bathroom five minutes prior, Harry decided to stomp right back out. 'Pansy,' he barked, 'your stupid potion did fuck all.'
Harry scanned the room, trying to seek out the sleek black bob he associated with Pansy. But the Slytherin Dorm was empty, Blaise’s sheets looked a sight, and the door leading to the Common Room was ajar.
Traitors.
'Pansy!' Echoes followed Harry down the stairs and into the Eighth Year Common Room.
'Shit, yeah?' Pansy cringed before leaping up from the plush sofa she was sharing with Blaise.
'The stupid potion was a dud.' Harry fought back a frown; whatever he wanted to happen did not happen.
'Huh. I mean, I definitely got the right one.' Pansy poked him in the cheek, and narrowed her beady eyes. In a split second, her red, painted mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape.
'What?'
She shook her head and peered back towards the sofas.
At Blaise, talking to the air.
No.
Not the air.
A flash of platinum blond glistened from the sofa opposite Blaise.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
'Oi oi, come ‘ere, Potter.'
Blaise was such a bastard. He knew it too; the menace was flashing his teeth like a Cheshire cat.
Dragging his feet towards the seat, Harry collapsed beside Draco. He desperately did not want to reveal his feelings, or the bloody failure of a potion.
'Uh, Harry?'
The inside of Harry’s cheek had to get chewed out in place of Blaise, whilst Draco was there.
'Potter. Draco is talking to you,' Blaise sang.
It was a rare occasion that Pansy remained silent, but she perched on the sofa beside Blaise- her dark stare trained on Draco.
'Oh— sorry, ha— I, uh, yes?'
Stupid. Crushes made him stupid.
Whenever Draco spoke to Harry, his hand found its way to the back of his neck. He was certain he looked like an absolute wanker.
'Right, erm... What potion were you guys talking about?' Draco’s striking grey eyes flickered over the group.
'Ahh, well, Pott—'
'A calming draught!' Harry disrupted Blaise and his traitorous smirk. 'Been a bit stressed, so Pansy got me some.' The pitch of his voice was giving him away. Merlin, crushes were stressful. He didn't remember them being so stressful. Why were they so bloody stressful?
'Huh, right. I see.' Draco’s once fitful gaze found its way to Harry’s face and became a silvery stare. His pupils dilated a fraction, and his rosy lips fell apart.
'You okay, Draco?'
'Are you… wearing eyeliner?'
Shit. How was he going to explain this?
False and nonsensical answers bubbled up in Harry's throat threatening to emerge. Until they didn't. Because Draco's slender finger traced his cheekbone, and his pupils widened further.
'Oh my god,' he breathed. Draco’s cheeks darkened into a deep pink.
Harry had never seen him look so dazed, so flustered. It was enchanting, the way Draco’s pristine expression became watercolour- fragile and exposed.
'What’s happening?' Harry choked out, unable to form proper sentences whilst Draco looked as though he was falling apart.
'The potion worked, Potter.' Blaise piped up, halfway out the door, following Pansy.
'The potion?' Draco murmured.
His eyes fell to Harry’s lips.
Instinctively, Harry's tongue flicked out, trailing his upper lip.
He felt his face heat up in embarrassment as Draco stared. 'Uhm— I— It was meant to— to turn me into your... type.'
Without another word, Draco’s hand moved from Harry’s face to the nape of his neck. His fingertips ran through the curls, tugging lightly before he pulled Harry in.
Under his breath, Draco muttered unintelligibly before pressing his lips to Harry's.
And it sounded a lot like 'stupid Potter’s stupid eyeliner'.